


Password Protection

by entanglednow



Series: The Fourth Wall [12]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-11
Updated: 2010-01-11
Packaged: 2017-10-14 17:27:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/151697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entanglednow/pseuds/entanglednow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Dean touches an angel and Sam's life is a soap opera.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Password Protection

  
Sam's not due back for a couple of hours, which is pretty much the only excuse Dean needs at the moment. Besides, Castiel looks so terribly serious where he's leant against the headboard, quietly making his way through one of Sam's books. Before Dean reaches over and slips it out of his hands. He loves that expression Castiel makes just before he kisses him, like he's always so surprised. Still it's a look Dean enjoys wrecking, turning into half-lidded pleasure and quiet contentment.

The angel is so very distracting. Hell he was distracting to start with but the fact that Dean can do this whenever he wants. He's still kind of surprised how much that gets to him. He eases back a little, he thinks maybe to tell Castiel as much. But the angel catches at his t-shirt with strong fingers.

"Don't stop," Castiel tells him. But the low growl of his voice makes it more command than plea. It leaves Dean helpless to do anything but kiss him again, long desperate seconds where it skates past innocent and moves into something deeper. Something harder, all demanding push of tongue, and teeth against the rough edge of Castiel's jaw. It turns into something that feels like it's going somewhere.

Dean's not entirely sure whether he's ready for...somewhere. He thinks maybe Castiel feels it too because the kiss slows, stops. Castiel shifts back a little to look at him and Dean has _ruined_ him. His hair is a mess and his mouth is wet and open, soft and full and bruised red. The slope of his shoulder is bare where Dean's been sliding his fingers into the collar of his shirt every time Castiel let him push his tongue into his mouth. He looks messy and dishevelled and tempting. Dean _wants_ him. Wants him with a fierce sort of ache that knows it's _Castiel_ and couldn’t give a damn about whether he has a dick or not.

He's absolutely ready for this.

"Can we -"

"Yes," Castiel says simply.

"Are you sure -"

"Yes." Castiel is already dragging his t-shirt up over his head in one slide of hands, like he's just been waiting to bare Dean's skin and - Jesus - worship it. Oh God, that is so blasphemous. But he's ok with that, more than ok with that. Especially since Castiel is slowly, carefully, working the button and zipper of Dean's jeans open. In slow movements like he's never done it before - and damn he probably hasn't. Dean figures he should help, a lot.

Castiel loses his jacket and his tie in quick rough movements. Dean gets his hands under Castiel's shirt, finds him warm underneath, skin smooth and moving on every breath. Dean has to spread his hands and pull him closer. Castiel gets briefly stuck in a shirt sleeve, which he seems to find completely unacceptable because there's the quiet snap of stitching and then it flutters off the bed.

That's kind of hot.

Dean has Castiel's pants halfway open when the angel makes him stand up so he can drag his jeans and boxer shorts down his legs. Castiel's seen him naked before. Castiel remade him. But it hadn't been about this before. It hadn't been -

Castiel touches him, runs his hands up Dean's thighs, curves them round his hips. Before they're moving in, touching the solid hard ache of his cock and the soft-tense skin of his balls, quick drags of fingers and knuckles, and a brief press-drag of his palm. Dean gulps air and catches his wrists.

"Let me touch you," he says quietly. Because, oh yeah, he's so past the uncertainty about touching another guy's dick. He wants to make Castiel feel _exactly_ like this, wants to feel the weight and the heat of him. He needs to stroke him in quick greedy pulls. He pulls at the waist of Castiel's pants, dragging it over his hips and down his thighs. Pulling the tight edge of his shorts down with it.

Castiel isn't quite as ready as him. Dean has a brief moment of uncertainty.

"You ok?" he asks shakily, because if something's wrong, if he's not as into this as Dean is then he wants to know about it.

"Yes," Castiel says simply, firmly, and then catches Dean's hand and presses it to his groin.

Dean trusts him, Castiel's still not used to being in his own skin, maybe it just takes him a little longer. He touches him, slow and careful, he strokes his fingers over the length of him. Drags his thumb over the head and then does it again when Castiel makes a soft, stunned noise in his throat. Dean finds the places, the touches, that make Castiel’s eyes close, that make his fingers dig quick and unexpected, into Dean's arm and waist.

They fall closer, until Dean is kissing him between one touch and the next. Castiel likes the kissing, he makes soft punched-out noises into Dean's mouth and Dean kisses him harder. Smooth wet pushes that make the angel's hands slide higher, touch Dean's shoulders and his hair and the side of his face. He's hard in Dean's hand now, hips pushing up in quick little jerks, shoving him into Dean's grip. Dean wants to be closer, _needs_ to be closer.

Castiel doesn't object, goes down in the sheets under Dean's weight and the slide of bare legs, the smooth push of his hands it's all new and strange and good. Dean presses himself down hard into the warmth of Castiel's thigh. Then tries not to rock into the soft firmness of his skin. He fails completely because, oh, that is so good. Castiel seems to approve, his hands fall, catch Dean's hips and pull him up high enough that they slide together on the next solid push.

"You want to - like this?" Dean asks breathlessly.

Castiel makes a rough noise of agreement and pulls at the back of his neck. Strong and quietly demanding. Fuck, this isn't going to last long. But Dean will worry about that later, when he doesn't have an angel pulling at his skin, pressing hard and new and eager into the shove of his own cock. It's almost uncomfortable, but in a way that's shivery good, in a way that's going to ache tomorrow and remind him exactly what they did. They're breathing into each other, hot and soft and close and Dean likes it, likes the way Castiel's eyes are huge, the ways his fingers clutch and grab at his waist on every push. The way Castiel opens without having to be coaxed every time Dean has to lean in and kiss him.

"Dean," there's a soft edge of uncertainty under the roughness of his name.

But Dean can feel it, he can feel how close he is.

"It's ok, it's good, let it happen," he tells him, because he wants to see it, wants to see Castiel go over the edge. He wants it almost as much as he wants his own.

Castiel breaks into pieces under him, he makes a low, ragged noise of stunned bliss. It's soft and honest and utterly unselfconscious. Dean doesn't let go, holds him right there, and suddenly he's sliding through the slick warmth of Castiel's come. Which is pretty much the dirtiest thing he's ever done in his entire life. Dean groans, pushes down and loses it, sudden and hard against the angel's skin.

There's a soft, damp flare of breath against his mouth, like Castiel finds the sensation unexpectedly arousing.

Dean's still coming back from the edge when Castiel kisses him, hard-edged and fierce. Dean's not entirely sure if it's gratitude or insistence that they're doing that again, _right now._ Dean wishes he was capable of that much enthusiasm. He's fairly sure that the angel is going to kill him. He'd not entirely sure he's going to mind.

He shifts up off of him, tacky and wet and, yeah, that's gross.

Real life is messy.

Good, but messy.

There's only one sensible option here. Dean slithers to his knees, palm sliding on the bare flung out curve of Castiel's arm, until he finds his hand. Screw it. He laces their fingers together and Castiel closes his hand like that, like maybe he plans to never let go.

Dean pulls him up and kisses the soft relaxed line of his mouth. "Come on, shower."

Castiel doesn't even hesitate.

  
~~~~

  
Dean slithers out of bed thirsty at some ridiculous hour of the morning, drifts his way towards the table where he left the bottles of water.

Only to find Sam already there, a vast and unhappy shape slumped against the wood. He has his bandaged leg up on one of the other pushed out chairs.

"Jesus, Sam, it's two in the morning. What the hell are you doing up?" One look at the table gives him at least half of the picture. There are at least three sad empty cups with bare dribbles of coffee in each one. The one Sam's holding is still steaming.

Dean sits down opposite him.

"Why don't you want to sleep?" he asks carefully.

Sam makes a soft grunt-like noise that commits him to nothing.

There are really only a few explanations here.

Dean jumps on the most obvious one. "Did he _do_ something to you?" he demands.

The quick flare of panic in Sam's face is not helping his suspicion at all.

"Jesus, Sam -"

"No," Sam says quickly, awkwardly. "No, Dean, he didn't do anything to me."

"So what's this then?" Dean gestures at the coffee village Sam's seems intent on making himself mayor of.

Sam winces.

"I might have done something stupid," he admits quietly. Then says absolutely nothing else. Dean raises an eyebrow and _looks_ at him.

Sam looks away.

Dean frowns. "You remember that conversation we had right at the beginning of all of this. About having an honesty policy. No matter how much embarrassing or hideous crap came up. So nothing like Ruby, or like accidentally starting the apocalypse could happen again?"

Sam makes a face and then nods slowly. "Yeah, I remember."

"So, give," Dean says roughly.

Sam drags his coffee closer, fingers curled round it, then sighs like he's about to admit something terrible.

"So, umm, we were talking, last night, or rather not talking about the end of the world. I was trying to convince him we're not all completely worthless and he was trying to convince me he doesn’t want to use me as his vessel, again."

Dean grunts, because that seems to be a running theme with them.

Sam clears his throat and starts again, voice a little quieter.

"I was thinking about fanfic, about how in fanfic all this would be so much easier. The conversation would be about five minutes long and all the bad guys would have dramatic changes of heart and suddenly like puppies and flowers and small children. Just because it fits the plot, or it's the only quick way to get to a sex scene and I remember thinking it was unfair that it wasn't that easy that you couldn't just -" Sam uncurls one of his hands and gestures at Dean " - have everything work that way."

He holds his coffee again, rolls it lazily back and forth.

"So, I was thinking about what it would be like if everything _did_ work like that if you could just spontaneously fix stuff and I might have gotten a little confused, just for second -" he stops. And he looks so horribly torn that Dean's kind of afraid to prod him

Sam takes a deep breath. "I may have accidentally kissed Lucifer," he says flatly.

Dean blinks.

Sam blinks.

Dean can't help it. He just _can't._

One moment he's trying to work through surprise and the next -

Sam sighs.

"It's not funny."

Dean's making noises he's fairly sure are unattractive and he doesn't even care. He takes a breath and then loses it again straight away and Sam's expression of offended irritation just makes it _worse._

Sam did not just admit to taking advice from fanfic.

He couldn't possibly have done.

Oh God, he totally did.

"It's not funny, Dean, stop laughing."

Dean's not sure he can.

Sam sighs and drinks his coffee.

Dean misses laughing like this. Laughing until it hurts. He misses it so hard that he hangs onto it for as long as he can. Eventually he puts his hands on the table and huffs something that might be the last of it. Save for a grin that just won't quit.

"I've been mocking you for years but, God, you actually _are_ a teenage girl." He says breathlessly. "Acting out your own fanfic fantasies."

Dean makes a graceless snorting noise.

Sam glares at him.

But Dean's not even close to finished.

"You woke up gay right? No - aliens made you do it, though you'd probably never admit to that one. Or maybe it was sex pollen. Was it cold last night, did you have to huddle together for warmth?"

Sam's clearly not finding this funny in the slightest.

Dean's finding it freakin' hilarious. It clicks right about then. He points at Sam's leg.

"Dude, I'm an idiot. It was hurt-comfort wasn't it. You were all wounded and helpless and he was all -"

"I'm going to throw this coffee at you in a minute," Sam says flatly.

Dean stops talking but he's still laughing. Because this is going to be funny forever. _Forever._

"Seriously, are we talking 'oops I accidentally fell in the general vicinity of your mouth' kissed Lucifer, or are we talking 'full on make-out time with the devil?'"

Sam continues to glare but there's a flare of embarrassment there now. Dean shakes his head. He'd honestly thought their life couldn't get any more messed up. God, only the Winchesters would sneak up on normality and punch it in the face.

"Dude, congratulations, you officially win. No Winchester is ever going to top the sheer mind-boggling supernatural soap opera that is your life. We should get you balloons, there should be _balloons_ for this."

Dean gets up to make himself a coffee. Because, yeah, he's going to need coffee for this.

"So what exactly did Lucifer think of your teenage girl moment?" Dean asks and then can't quite believe he'd actually said it.

"I don't know, I woke up," Sam says stiffly.

Dean pauses in the middle of pouring coffee.

"You kissed the devil and then you ran away?"

"I didn't run away," Sam says quietly, and eyeballs him furiously.

Dean cocks his head to the side and pulls the face. The one that says 'dude, it sounds like that's exactly what you did.' Sam doesn't say anything for a long minute. So he either looked for an argument and couldn’t find one or he just doesn't want to admit that he liked it.

"He asked if I was going to blame it on him."

Their life is absolutely a soap opera. He'd totally call it _'Touched By An Angel'_ if that wasn't already taken. Why were all the good puns already taken? Oh God, this is pretty much fanfic isn't it. They've turned their lives into fanfic.

He sits back down. "Dude, of all the people you do not cut and run on, I'd imagine Lucifer would be pretty high on the list."

"I didn't do it on purpose. He doesn't keep me asleep. I just panicked and woke up."

Sam drops his hand on the table, makes a low noise that sounds horrified and conflicted. Like he's not entirely sure what he's actually feeling about it all, let alone what he thinks he should feel while Dean's looking.

His brother is clearly working through _some stuff._

Dean almost feels bad for wanting to laugh at him, so very badly.

He lets him off for just a second because he thinks maybe he should admit something of his own so Sam can't hold it over him later.

"Me and Cas are kind of a thing now," he says over his mug.

"A thing?" Sam asks with a raised eyebrow.

"Yeah a thing," Dean says with a glare, daring Sam to make something of it.

Sam snorts. "Dean, I kind of knew that. I've been watching you make cow eyes at each other for months."

"I do not make cow eyes," Dean says stiffly.

There's a long amused minute of silence while they drink their coffee.

"Thanks for telling me."

Dean shrugs.

"Cas is awesome," Sam adds, and Dean isn't expecting it.

"Yeah," Dean agrees and stares at his coffee rather than risk them having an awkward moment which will turn them _both_ into teenage girls.

"Just promise to only have sex when I'm out," Sam tells him.

Dean snorts at Sam's 'I'm hurting my brain with how hard I'm _not_ picturing that' face.

"Dude, is that squeamishness coming from the guy who _made out with Lucifer?_ Seriously?"

Sam makes a face at him. Dean kind of hopes he stays that way. Honestly, he thinks maybe he's waiting for Sam to start protesting that it's never going to happen again. That it was a horrible mistake.

He waits for it but it doesn't seem to be coming.

Dean's not sure how he feels about that.

It's not like Lucifer isn't a bigger, whole lot more powerful mess than Ruby was. Really he should be pissed about this. He should be furious and horrified and tearing Sam a new one for being so stupid. Because Dean doesn't trust anything and though he trusts Sam he doesn't always trust that Sam uses his trust in a sensible way. But the apocalypse seems to have quietly stopped happening so Lucifer could spend time learning about humanity and eating candy and giving them tips on how to kill their monsters of the week. And flirting with his brother.

Hell, maybe he really does believe Sam's convincing him not to messily destroy them all.

And even if he does have ulterior motives, they're doing everything they can do. They're killing the monsters, they're saving people and Sam's under strict orders to not say yes to anything that will end up with Lucifer getting all up inside him.

Dean stares into his coffee.

He really _wishes_ his brain hadn't just phrased it like that.

He clears his throat.

"So, hey, what does Lucifer look like anyway?" Because it occurs to him that he doesn’t have a clue.

Sam frowns, then shrugs.

"Sort of normal."

"Sort of normal?" Dean repeats dubiously. He thinks maybe he expected something a little more epic from the ruler of hell. Especially with him apparently luring his brother into kissing him.

"It's not what he looks like, he feels - I don't know - he kind of has that angel thing going, only more of it. He's sort of vast and impossible and sad."

"And evil," Dean points out.

"Little bit," Sam admits.


End file.
